State Lines
by WelshWitch1011
Summary: "Because if anybody were to understand him, or love him despite who he feared he had become, it was her." AU S6, spanning all 50 US states. Dean/Jo
1. Chapter 1

Author: WelshWitch1011

**Title**: State Lines

**Rating**: T (Occasionally M)

**Spoilers:** AU from end of S5.

**Pairing:** Dean/Jo

**Author's Note:** Hey all! This is my brand new multi-chapter fic, which is an AU version of S6. Ellen and Jo are alive and well (as they should have stayed, Eric!), and Lisa is nothing but a distant memory (again... as she should have stayed).

Each chapter will be set in one of the US states, and will follow on from each other in chronological order.

Thanks once again to Silverspoon, for her awesome beta skills... There is no sister better than mine. True story.

Well, on with the show... Angst ahead, you have been warned!

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><p><strong>Nebraska<strong>

_The stench of rotting, burning flesh permeates his nostrils, carried on hot, sharp blasts of air that cause his stomach to lunge._

_His eyes are screwed closed, and he knows he dare not open them, for the sights that await him are far more insidious than anything in the world he has now left behind._

_A tortured scream punctuates the low, unearthly moan of those trapped there with him, yet he finds he has lost the ability to verbalise his own anguish. His body lies dormant, and his reactions have gradually ceased against the constant burning and searing pain that holds him prisoner._

_He flinches against the sound of blades cleaving flesh, and the telltale scream that follows; his senses have acclimatised perhaps too well to their surroundings. _

_But the all engulfing terror is too great to deny, and he knows that he can only resist for so much longer, before becoming the tormentor himself._

_Hands claw at his skin, razor sharp talons embed into his chest and drag long, deep welts that instantly leave a crimson pool in their wake.  
><em>

_He hears his screams only in his head._

_The binds at his wrists cut into him, as he struggles only momentarily against his captors, yet all too soon, the horrifying reality of his plight reminds him yet again that there is no fight to escape. This will be his eternity; an unceasing ordeal of de-humanising torture until all too soon, he becomes that which he fears above all else._

_Yet his brother is alive, and this fact dulls the anguish that otherwise eats away at his mind.  
>Fragments of the past play like a silent movie in his head; the weight of his baby brother in his arms, his father's frantic screams, and the dense, heady smell of smoke, carried on the crisp air of a winter's night.<em>

_Occasionally though he finds solace in his memories, and for a few brief seconds he holds onto the sound of his mother's whispered lullabies, or sometimes, the sparkling life and light he had once found in a pair of deep, brown eyes. Her smile haunts him, like a goading reminder of all that might have been, and too soon the memories become nothing more than another form of torture, another pain to be endured there in the heat and never-ending chaos of Hell._

_The tip of a blade presses lazily against his shoulder, and all too soon the sound of ripping, wrenching flesh and tendon pierces his thoughts, and her smile disappears from his memory. Inch by inch, the burning hot knife stabs into its victim and the sickening thud of metal hitting bone alerts his tormentor that his flesh can yield no more._

_Yet the knife plunges through and finally, Dean Winchester screams._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The air left his lungs in a short, sharp gasp, as he found himself sitting bolt upright in bed, the sheets damp and rumpled beneath his sweat slickened body.

Running his hands through his hair, Dean glanced desperately around the bedroom, his chest heaving as he tried to calm his breathing and swiped at the tears that had escaped him in sleep.

The moonlight shone in through a gap in the drapes, and illuminated the small room enough to assure him that this was reality.  
>Squinting against the darkness, he focused on the wooden dresser, hungrily digesting each detail of the items resting on it in an attempt to provoke less terrifying thoughts to occupy his mind. Yet in the fog of having just awoken, his surroundings still bore that strange sense of unfamiliarity, and it was several long seconds before he remembered the details of his present life.<p>

Glancing to his side, he eyes swept the figure of the woman laying next to him, and he focused intently on her face, almost willing her eyes to open so he could lose himself in the warmth and adoration he knew he would find there.

Resisting the urge to wake her, or simply enclose her in his arms, Dean stared silently around the bedroom, noting how bare and yet somehow welcoming the sight before him was. Their possessions now sat side by side, his having crept steadily into her once solitary space, almost as easily as she had crept into his heart.

Two pairs of boots sat lined up beside the closet, their clothes lying in a tangled heap over the back of a chair, discarded hastily by their owners in a frenzy of lust and desire. The room lacked the usual barrage of possessions and trinkets that make a house a home, but nevertheless, it was home all the same.

He had promised his brother he would go to her, that he would live out his days as he had always wanted; seeking out the good in life, as opposed to hunting the evil. She had greeted him of course with sadness, shocked by his confession that he believed she was his one chance at happiness.  
>So she had invited him to stay, welcoming him into her life, into her home, and eventually into her bed. Jo's heart had always been his.<p>

For the first time in his adult life, Dean knew he should be happy, and sometimes he was, in moments when he forgot the how and why of his present life, and he let her laughter and her kisses drown out the sorrow that otherwise overcame him.

Ellen and Bobby remained close-by, and the four hunters now worked jobs together, although each perhaps kept a more vigilant eye on each other than they had before. He hunted, as he had always done, but now Dean had someone to come home to, and a chance for as close to an 'apple pie' life as he knew his birthright and temperament would allow.

Hunting would always be a part of his life, just as it would always be hers. And Dean had realised that despite who he always thought he had wanted to become, this was who he was. This was the only life he had really known, and for better or worse, it was the only one that made sense, or gave him purpose. This was everything and all he could ever be, and Jo loved him for, and perhaps sometimes despite, this fact.

Whilst he had been unsure as to whether to darken her doorstep and indeed her life with the shadows he knew he would undoubtedly bring with him, the pull to be near her, to finally love and be loved, was too great to deny. Because if anyone were to understand him, and love him despite who he feared he had become, it was her.

He fought daily with the paralysing fear of somehow losing her, of his life becoming an echo of his father's, yet he found himself unable to leave. He had never made clear his intentions of how long he would stay, and she had never asked, and occasionally a strange sense of uncertainty hung in the air between them.

But they _were_happy, having somehow managed to form a surprisingly functional relationship in their otherwise dysfunctional world.

Yet Dean couldn't shake the feeling of loss and the gaping hole that festered in his heart - because in his ideal world, in his perfect life, his brother was there beside him.

Dean pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, as he tried in vain to stem the tears that escaped his eyes, as he wondered if his hellish fate had now also befallen his sibling. It was unimaginable to think of Sam that way, yet the images continued to cruelly assault his mind.  
>The bed beside him dipped gently, and he felt a small, warm hand land against his shoulder. Her whispered voice made soft soothing sounds, as she edged closer across the mattress and leant her head against his arm.<p>

He turned to stare at her in the darkness, abandoning the shame and embarrassment that gnawed away at him as her hand tenderly brushed his jaw, and she ushered him into an embrace.

Kneeling up beside him, Jo enclosed him in her arms, her heart breaking that little bit more as she felt his warm tears splash against her skin, and his arms tighten almost uncomfortably around her hips.  
>She ran her hands through his hair, his breath hot and ragged against her stomach, as he pressed his face against the fabric of her nightgown, and he held onto her as if she were the lifeline he knew she had become.<p>

Jo didn't offer platitudes or false promises, she didn't tell him it would 'be okay', because they both knew it never would be. Sam was gone, and with his death, Dean had lost not just a brother, but his best friend. They had relied on each other for so long that the idea of one surviving without the other seemed incredible, and Jo often wondered how she would ever be able to contemplate healing the wounds that cut deep into Dean's soul.

The nightmares were terrifyingly frequent, and only days after first having slept beside him, Jo had awoken one night to find him gone, the sheets drenched with sweat and tears, wrung into pleated twists of cotton by desperate fists.

She had found him in the kitchen, sitting in perfect silence at the table, with a haunted expression on his face that he apparently hoped to lose in the depths of the liquor bottle clutched in his hand.  
>Removing the bottle from his grasp with surprising ease, Jo had poured the amber liquid down the sink, the final dregs dropping from the bottle as the first tears had escaped his eyes.<p>

"_Sam wouldn't want this_," she had told him. Then she offered him her hand, and he took it.

Sometimes, in the nights that followed, they would end up like this, sitting in silence, allowing the minutes and hours to pass by, as she held onto him and he to her, as if his salvation depended on it.  
>Jo never asked him to talk about his nightmares, to give a voice to the horrors she knew plagued him. She never demanded more than he was willing to give, content to simply lie there, stroking his hair and kissing his cooling brow until sleep came to claim him once again.<p>

Other times, he would seek comfort in other ways, losing himself in her body until his energy was spent, and a heavy, dreamless sleep overcame him in her arms.

He never spoke of his dreams in the light of morning, and the usual, flirtatious, easy banter that had always existed between them once more coloured their exchanges. He returned her laughter and smiles with his own; true, sincere smiles that brought light to his eyes. Because Sam was right, and she made him happy.

"It was my job to take care of him."

His heartbroken words shattered her reverie, and Jo pulled him closer, finding herself rocking slowly and rhythmically as if comforting a child.

"It's not your fault, Dean," she stated softly, feeling powerless to provide any real comfort.

Jo felt his body relax in her arms, and she knew sleep was once again drawing him away from her. His words became muffled against her, his breath drifting across the bare skin of her arms as he nuzzled against her body, resting his head against her chest as his fingers curled around her waist.  
>Leading him back down toward the pillows, Jo allowed him once more into her arms, his damp cheek pressing against her collarbone. Dean brushed a kiss to her skin, whispering apologies that she instantly silenced.<p>

Her fingertips drifted across the shell of his ear, and Dean closed his eyes tightly, feeling both overwhelmed and undeserving of the tenderness and affection that radiated from her touch.

Taking a deep breath, he fought back his pride and shame, and with a tentative, uncharacteristically uncertain voice, Dean finally told her of the nightmares that haunted him.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

The morning sun was an unwelcome intrusion to her slumber, and Jo squinted against the beam of sunlight that sliced unrelentingly across her pillow.

Yawning through the wave of tiredness she felt about to overcome her, she smiled sleepily at the warm, pleasantly numb feeling that drifted over her body.

Dean's hand rested high on her abdomen, the heavy, yet not oppressive weight of his arm lay across her hips, and kept her close to his chest as he slept curled up beside her. Stretching languidly, Jo smiled as she felt her bare skin brush against his, their legs an undeterminable tangle beneath the sheets.

A sudden flutter of movement behind her alerted her to the fact that he too was now awake, and she sighed airily as a path of kisses was trailed slowly down her neck.

Turning in his arms, Jo rolled over onto her back and was pleasantly surprised by the wide smile he greeted her with.

After his outpouring of grief and long held secrets the night before, she had been afraid that he would become distant or closed off toward her - made to feel self-conscious by his admissions the morning after.

Her fears were silenced by the distinctly adoring smile he beheld her with, and before any of the regular morning greetings or pleasantries could be exchanged, he had claimed her lips in a toe curling kiss.

Jo giggled against his mouth, lifting her head from the pillow to seek out his lips once again, as his knee gently nudged her legs apart, and he settled himself in the cradle of her hips.

Breaking away from their kisses, Dean stared down at her with such intense scrutiny, that a blush rose upon her cheeks. Bending his head, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, before repeating the gesture over her cheek and eventually down to her lips.

Meeting his gaze, Jo reached up and brushed her hand across his jaw, her thumb sweeping the corner of his mouth, which he again caught with a kiss.  
>"Thank you," he said sincerely, his eyes boring into hers as he explained, "for last night. For listening."<p>

Jo shook her head, dismissing his gratitude just as she had his apologies, and she silenced him on the subject with a smile and the first in another succession of kisses.  
>"You'd do it for me," she said simply, watching as he stared down at her and nodded in reply.<p>

His fingertips tangled in her hair, and he ushered her lips towards his, hearing her groan beneath him as he left her breathless and wanting.

Brushing the tip of his nose against hers, Dean smiled and began dragging a line of open mouthed kisses down her neck, pausing to lick and suck at her pulse point until her hips arched up against his and he bit down lightly in response.

Her hands scoured his back, and she let her head fall back against the pillow as he continued his languid exploration of her body.

Pausing as his hand slid slowly up her thigh, Dean lifted his head from her chest and leant up over her, his forehead pressed lightly to hers as he appeared momentarily thoughtful.

Immediately sensing the change in mood, Jo glanced up at him uncertainly, yet her questioning remark died on her lips as he suddenly spoke.

Cupping her cheek in his hand, Dean hesitated for only a moment.

"Jo… Can I stay?"

Releasing a relieved breath, Jo beamed up at him and shrugged for effect.

"Well, that all depends. How long were you thinking?" she fished, mirroring the grin that soon twitched at his lips.

"I don't know," he tried to sound allusive, and failed miserably, the glint in his eyes suitably betraying his intentions and his voice took on a more serious tone once again. "You think you could stand having me around for good?"

Her arms wrapped tighter around him and this time Jo kissed him, her breath warm against his cheek as she replied. "I guess that'd be okay."

Smiling in approval at her response, he lowered his head toward hers pausing seemingly the second before their lips met. "Don't ever go anywhere, okay?"

Jo trailed her fingertips across his neck and bobbed her head in agreement, "Well, that works both ways, Winchester."

Weaving his fingers through hers, he nodded solemnly, before enclosing her in his arms once again.

For the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester made a promise he prayed he could keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I still don't own Dean Winchester.

**Author's Note:** After much debate with several people over what exactly Jo's college major (if indeed she declared one) was, this was what the general consensus agreed on. As it offered itself quite nicely to a chapter like this, I decided to go with it.

With thanks and big smushy hugs to Silverspoon, as always.

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><p><strong><em>Wisconsin<em>**

A burning pain stabbed deep within his chest as Dean pressed a clenched fist to his mouth, and his body shook with the violent force of an impromptu coughing fit.

Releasing a weary and self-indulgent groan, he swiped the pad of his thumb beneath his eyes to stem the tears that had begun to involuntarily escape his red rimmed eyes. Having been feeling slightly out of sorts for the past few days, Dean had awoken that morning in the throes of what was apparently a very nasty and all consuming bout of the flu.

He had managed to resist Jo's admittedly sage and sensible advice, and as of yet had refused to seek solace in a box of the drug store's finest cold and flu medication.

Now, after having sneezed, coughed, wretched and sniffled his way through that morning's hunt, where they had encountered a decidedly cranky poltergeist – Dean Winchester was finally ready to admit defeat.

Every joint and muscle in his body ached; he couldn't recall the last time he had been able to take a breath through his nose; and it had become difficult to decide whether it was the razor blade sensation in his throat, or the dull, throbbing headache that was perhaps the worst of his symptoms.

Having initially offered boundless sympathy and comfort, Jo had now lost patience with her constantly complaining boyfriend, and had ordered that he immediately seek out the appropriate medicinal products to ease both their suffering.

It appeared that Dean was not one to suffer in proverbial silence, and it felt to Jo as though she too had endured every ache, pain, twinge, sniffle and sneeze he had experienced through his constant grousing, muttering and overtly dramatic sighs.

"Okay, you want syrup or pills?" she demanded, one hand planted on her hip as she gestured to the drug store shelf and arched an eyebrow that practically defied him to argue with her.

"I don't care," Dean sniffed, blinking rapidly as his eyes began to burn and water furiously once again.

"Okay, well... you can have both," she replied with a shrug, quickly plucking a box of decongestants from the shelf along with a bottle of cough syrup, "and I don't want to hear about how bad this stuff tastes."

Dean shrugged dejectedly and Jo bit back a smile as she watched his shoulders hunch, and he stared down at the ground, simply nodding silently.

Feeling her heart constrict just a little at the expression she found upon his face, and in light of recent events, Jo found herself unable to maintain her strict facade. Gathering the items up into her arms -along with a super-sized box of Kleenex and a carton of juice - she slipped her free hand through Dean's arm and hugged it gently.

"Come on, let's get back to the motel," she suggested softly, reaching up and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, and repeating the gesture against his cheeks, "you do feel kind of warm."

"I feel like Hell, is what I feel like, sweetheart," Dean stated, turning his head away from her as he coughed, and the action caused his ribs to ache, "and I should know; I've been there."

He took the items from her arms with a chivalrous flourish, and Jo smiled at the gesture, despite the self-satisfied smirk it prompted.

Rolling her eyes and falling into step beside him, Jo sighed contentedly as she felt Dean's hand land in the centre of her back, steering her toward the check out.

Dean stood dutifully at her side in the line-up, glancing ahead at the other five customers before them, as he absently slid his arm around her hip and drew her closer.

"You sure you don't want to wait in the car?" Jo checked, feeling far too warm herself in her thick winter jacket, combined with the almost tropical temperature of the drug store. She could only imagine how Dean must be feeling, under his leather jacket, and with flu induced hot flashes.

Not receiving a response, Jo glanced up at him and frowned as she found his attention had been diverted toward the candy shelves a few feet away.

Following his gaze, Jo's heart sank as her own eyes settled on the two little boys bickering before them. Judging by their colouring and similar features, it was not difficult to discern the two as siblings, and there appeared to be an age gap of no more than four or five years between them.

The older of the two held out a couple of candy bars, one in each hand, as the younger squinted and cocked his head, appearing to be having difficulty making his choice. Narrowing his eyes from beneath his tousled brown hair, the youngest child reached out and pointed toward the Hershey bar, beaming up at his sibling for approval.

"You sure you want this one?" the older boy pressed, obviously knowing the smaller child well enough to realise his battle with indecision was probably far from over.

"Yep," he bobbed his head definitely yet moments later, a flicker of doubt passed across his wide blue eyes. His little tongue poked out against his bottom lip as he suddenly recoiled and he re-aimed his index finger at the other candy bar, "No, that one."

Jo watched Dean's expression closely, detecting a faint, undeniably sad smile tug at his lips as he watched the exchange. She squeezed his arm, yet he continued to stare down at the siblings as if reliving a similar memory of his own.

"Jamie!" the older boy whined in exasperation, and sighed resolutely as he decided on a course of action.

"Okay, I'm gonna get this one," he held aloft the previously slighted Hershey bar and gestured down to his brother, "you can decide when we get home. Mom wants us back before it gets dark."

Beginning to walk off ahead, the older boy paused as his little brother gasped at his sudden departure and called out after him, "Hey, Connor, wait for me!"

Turning to face him, Connor simply reached out his hand and took his little brother's firmly in his own.

They ambled toward the line together, joining the queue beside Dean and Jo at the neighbouring check out, where they chattered quietly about comic books, TV shows, and things that really only matter to little boys.

Dean swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as he felt his eyes burn once again with tears that had little to do with the flu, and he dropped his gaze to the ground self-consciously.

Jo leant her head against his shoulder and blindly searched out his hand. Dean nodded wordlessly at her gesture of comfort, simply tangling his fingers through hers and gripping her hand fiercely in his own.

"I'm okay," he murmured, lifting his gaze only long enough to bestow a weak smile upon her.

Jo only wished she could believe him.

**x-x-x-x-x**

Leaning back against a mountain of pillows, and nestled amidst a mass of blankets and comforters, Dean flicked disinterestedly through the TV channels as he kept one eye on the door of the motel room.

Jo had disappeared a half hour before, vowing to find him something to tempt his dwindling appetite, since his usual diet of fast food and snacks appeared strangely unappetising to his germ ridden body.

Huffing out a breath through his mouth, Dean reached for a Kleenex from the night stand beside him, deftly catching a succession of sneezes that left his forehead throbbing uncomfortably in their wake. Balling up the tissue, he tossed it in the garbage can and threw his head back wearily against the cheap, lumpy pillows.

The door opened with a quiet creak, and he immediately sat up straighter as he watched Jo creep into the room, uncertain as to whether her patient had been attempting to take a late afternoon nap.

Dean smiled almost instantly upon meeting her gaze, and she pressed her foot to the door to close it behind her before crossing the room with the small plastic tray she carried.

A plume of steam rose steadily from the contents of the bowl, and Dean frowned as he craned his neck to try to determine it's contents; contents he was certain she was about to force him to eat. A heady, comforting and oddly familiar smell suddenly invaded his senses, and Dean frowned as he tried to place where or when he had last encountered the arguably delicious aroma.

Jo placed the tray on the night stand and removed the lid from the bowl, inhaling the waft of hot air that immediately caught her cheeks with a satisfied smile.

Dean smiled, an incredulous laugh escaping him as he glanced down at the food and then looked up in apparent disbelief at his girlfriend.

"You made me tomato rice soup?"

Jo shrugged and walked around the bed, dropping down carefully beside him and leaning back against the wall as she kicked off her boots onto the floor.

"You told me your Mom used to make it for you when you were sick... I figured it might make you feel better," she stated, reaching for the TV remote as she absently glanced at her watch.

"How did you..." he began, blinking as he wondered just how she had managed to make him home-made soup given their current residence in a typically rundown motel.

"I talked the manager into letting me use the kitchen for a half hour," she said, checking the time on her watch with the clock that hung precariously on the wall beside the door.

Reaching across him, Jo didn't notice the still surprised and clearly sentimental smile that remained on Dean's face, and he watched her closely, touched by her thoughtfulness and the effort she was pouring into taking care of him.

Despite his feigned annoyance at following her strict medication regime, and her seemingly constant pushing of copious drinks in his direction, he couldn't help but be secretly thrilled at her attentiveness and caring. From an early age, Dean had been the one to look out for others. He had even felt a burden of care and a degree of responsibility toward his father, who often times seemed so entrenched and overcome by grief and anger that even as a child Dean had felt compelled to watch out for him as best he could.

Nobody, not even Sam, had shown him such attention, and over the past few months he had found an innate gentleness in Jo that had surprised him. There was a certain tenderness in her touch and a softness in her voice that he knew she shared with few others, and he felt privileged to have been rewarded with a glimpse of this somewhat maternal side of her.

Along with the many other qualities he knew she possessed, Dean constantly found himself discovering new aspects to her personality; new likes and dislikes, traits and quirks he felt instantly compelled to find adorable. He was falling more and more in love with her, and the fear he had always assumed would partner such feelings was strangely absent. Being with Jo felt right, and he had cursed himself for not having admitted his feelings for her sooner.

"Dean?" Jo called his name again, and from the slightly irritable expression on her face, he guessed she had tried a good few times to summon him from his thoughts.

"Time for your meds," she stated, offering him two small yellow and white capsules, and a half filled glass of water, alongside an expression that instantly required him to comply.

Dean grimaced but dutifully accepted the proffered drugs. He swallowed them both down with a pained gulp and a cursory frown of disdain.

"Don't be such a baby," Jo chided, producing an item from the night stand drawer that caused an audible groan to escape Dean's lips.

"Jo, no..." Dean protested, sighing as she jabbed the tip of the thermometer toward his lips and arched a blonde eyebrow at him.

"Open up, princess," she instructed, widening her eyes to add extra emphasis to her words.

Rolling his eyes in a fleeting act of rebellion, Dean dutifully opened his mouth and allowed her to gently slot the cold, metal tip of the thermometer underneath his tongue. Eyeing her closely, Dean leant back against the pillows.

"You know, you're pretty good at this stuff..." he stated awkwardly, the end of the thermometer waggling precariously from the corner of his mouth. He cast a glance toward the medication boxes and bottles, where she had carefully written a schedule for each, along with the seemingly never-ending carton of juice, vitamin pills and the wonderfully enticing soup that was now causing his stomach to grumble.

Jo nodded uncertainly and pressed her hand to his jaw, closing his mouth gently with a faintly mischievous smile. She seemed oddly nervous, poised on the brink of confession, and Dean's interest was piqued even further as Jo made several attempts to construct a sentence.

A small blush rising up her cheeks, Jo cleared her throat and busied herself at picking imaginary lint off of her shirt, "My college major was in nursing..."

Dean laughed out loud, inexplicably struck with the absurdity of her news. He'd seen her in action on hunts, he'd watched her decapitate vampires and take out a whole host of other-wordly creatures without so much as batting an eyelid, and whilst he'd never actually considered what had beckoned Jo briefly to college, he would never have guessed that had been her chosen profession. Although thinking back, it perhaps aptly explained her first aid skills in Duluth.

"What? Is that so hard to believe?" she asked, appearing a little upset by his reaction, although she had guessed it would be something along those lines.

Dean shook his head and voiced a hampered 'No', attempting to remove the thermometer from between his lips, but finding her hand coming to rest immediately over his.

Deciding to try to speak around the infuriating instrument, Dean continued on, "No, no... I just... I mean, no, I can see that... in a totally 'Nurse Jackie' kind of way."

He snickered, his eyes shining with unchecked amusement that brought a tiny, reluctant smile tugging at Jo's lips.

"How about you don't try to talk right now?" Jo snapped, closing his mouth with a slightly firmer touch and a petulant pout.

Dean smirked, sniggering as best as he could. Adopting a snooty expression, he cocked his head at an angle and shook his head at her disapprovingly, "I hope you were a whole lot nicer to your patients, sweetheart..."

"I was a delight," Jo dead-panned, leaning her hands on the mattress behind her as she sighed wearily, "I swear to Lucifer, Dean, if I didn't love you..."

Jo's features suddenly became panic stricken as she realised her unwitting confession, and she bowed her head toward the covers, thankful that her mane of blonde curls obscured Dean's view of her face as she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

A heavy silence hung between them, and Jo silently berated herself for her slip-up, assuming her words would have the infamously relationship-shy Winchester dissolving into a fit of coughs and splutters. Though they had now been living together for a little over four months, they still had yet to give voice to their emotions and, although Jo knew deep down inside that Dean most probably reciprocated her feelings, she wondered if it had been too soon.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Jo nibbled on her bottom lip as she hesitantly scanned his face. Her heart hammered in her chest as she found him staring back at her intently, wearing an expression she couldn't entirely decipher.

"Jo..." he began, about to remove the cursed thermometer from his mouth when she again stopped him, grateful beyond measure for the excuse.

"Wait for the beep," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his.

A mere few seconds later, a high pitched bleeping sound punctuated the silence of the room, and Jo slowly took it from between his lips and tried to busy herself with reading the flashing digital display.

"Well, you don't have a fever," she stated, hoping to steer the conversation in other, less uncomfortable directions.

"Jo..." Dean repeated, leaning forward and covering her hand with his as she repeatedly ducked her head and tried to avoid his eyes. He slipped his fingers within hers, tangling them together until their palms pressed snugly against each other.

His small, awestruck smile gradually allayed her fears, and Jo consented to hold his gaze as he too suddenly seemed lost for words; a highly uncharacteristic state in which to find Dean Winchester.

"I love you too," he said softly, although his tone was laced with a degree of sincerity and startling certainty that she found echoed in the intensity of his green eyes.

A wide smile illuminated her face and, as Dean pressed his palm gently against her cheek, Jo leant into his touch and placed her hand over his. Momentarily forgetting the flu that had overcome him, Jo leant forward and held her face mere inches from his, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel his lips against hers.

"I don't wanna get you sick," Dean said ruefully, staring longingly at her mouth despite his protestations.

Jo shook her head and felt her stomach dip in anticipation as she caught the decidedly hungry glint in his eyes.

"I'll take my chances," she argued, figuring that given their general closeness on a day to day basis, she would possibly get sick no matter how they tried to limit their contact now.

Needing no more encouragement, Dean closed the remaining distance between them and pulled her into his lap, pressing his lips to hers as her arms tangled around his neck.

Jo's fingers gripped the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and she whimpered softly into the kiss as his hands swept up and down her sides before settling firmly on her waist. Pulling apart grudgingly, Dean cursed the congestion that suddenly made him gasp for breath, and Jo caressed his cheek tenderly, before she brushed a kiss against his cheek in an attempt to soothe him.

Settling herself at his side, she leant her head against Dean's shoulder and draped her arm over his chest. His hand curved around her arm as his fingertips began to stroke softly up and down her skin.

Attempting to bite back the grin that twitched at his lips, Dean cleared his throat and waggled his eyebrow playfully, "So... how about a sponge bath?"

Jo giggled and rolled her eyes disapprovingly, lifting a pillow from her side of the bed that she used to swipe lightly at his head. Dean chuckled gleefully, holding up his hands as Jo launched another light hearted attack, pausing only when a coughing fit disrupted their fight.

Jo dropped her makeshift weapon and passed Dean a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully, gulping down the contents to quell the unrelenting tickle in the back of his throat. Lifting the tray of soup from the night stand, Jo set it down on his lap, seating herself beside him once again as she began to flick through the TV stations in search of something even remotely entertaining.

"Thank you," Dean acknowledged, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head as Jo snuggled further against him and dropped the remote, having decided on an old black and white movie.

Jo leant her head back and smiled in reply, suddenly rubbing furiously at her nose before she sneezed three times in succession.

Exchanging defeated sighs, and wearing equally exasperated expressions, Dean plucked a Kleenex from the box and placed it in her hand.

Pulling the covers up over them, he rested his head back against the pillows, as Jo let her head fall against his shoulder. Dean's breath ghosted over the shell of her ear as he nuzzled her cheek, and an unfamiliar sense of contentment began to settle over him.

Despite the loss that still gnawed away at him, despite the infuriating flu that he had succumbed to, and even despite the cheap, no-frills motel they once again temporarily called home – Dean finally believed happiness to be within his reach.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing!

With thanks to Silverspoon, as always. And to you guys, for reading and reviewing! :)

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><p><em><strong>Connecticut<strong>_

It was a cold, dark and grey fall day, yet inside the run down motel room, the temperature had risen to almost unbearable heights. Brushing a bead of sweat from his upper lip, Dean blew out a slow, exasperated breath and shot a decidedly irritable glare over toward the broken heater on the wall.

Despite their best efforts to turn off, turn down, or incapacitate the appliance, a steady stream of hot air continued to assail the room. With the towns annual Oktoberfest in full swing and with no other rooms available, Dean and Jo had been forced to remain in their own mini tropical ecosystem with only a small rate reduction to appease them.

Spinning the barrel of the handgun he had been cleaning with a decisive flick of his wrist, Dean lowered the weapon to the table top and cast a lingering glance over his scantily clad girlfriend; dressed in only a thin tank top and pair of pale pink cotton shorts, Dean reasoned that this was perhaps the only perk of their current accommodation.

Brushing the back of her hand over her forehead, Jo Harvelle continued on in her task, pretending to be blissfully unaware of her boyfriend's wandering eyes as she filled the remaining shell cases on the table with rock salt.

Dean smiled absently to himself, trailing his gaze up her toned thighs and over the thin, tight material of her vest that appeared to be openly tormenting him as it clung to her chest. Similarly dressed in only his boxers and a t-shirt, Dean felt a familiar stirring in his groin that was unfortunately not hampered by the usual constraints of denim.

Watching her lick her lips as she tilted her head in concentration, Dean released a quiet groan and tried to dispel the images from his mind that were currently leading him in a decidedly x-rated direction. He considered climbing to his feet and dramatically sweeping items from the table, hoisting Jo up onto it to take her there and then. However, whilst he knew Jo would not be wholly unreceptive to the idea, she might not take too kindly to having the fifty or so rounds of ammo she had just spent the past two hours filling being scattered across the ground. Consequently, he dismissed the idea, and rubbed his hand vigorously over his face to try to regain his wavering focus.

Jo glanced up from her task and smiled, having felt his eyes burning into her for the past few minutes. An equally affectionate smile tugged at Dean's lips, and his thoughts suddenly travelled a more sentimental path.

Despite her admirable capabilities as a hunter and her no nonsense, take-no-prisoners attitude, there was a softness and femininity in the young blonde that Dean adored. The dichotomy of such beauty and fragility in an arguably kick-ass hunter was something he found endlessly intriguing, and there had been only one other woman he could remember who had possessed such a strange mix of qualities.

Mary Winchester had been the first and perhaps most important female figure in Dean's life; a mother who had loved and nurtured him for such a short time, and had been so cruelly snatched from he and Sam's childhood at an age where only vague memories of her now remained.

Of course he had met her in his visits to the past, and had been instantly shocked by the young, confident, highly skilled hunter he had encountered. He had remembered her only as his mother - patient, gentle and nurturing, and happily removed from the hunting life she had tried desperately to leave behind.

Jo was everything young Mary had once been, and she understood him in ways no other woman had ever come close to. Whilst they were sometimes too alike to avoid confrontation, their opposite tendencies complemented each other, and Dean thought that Jo could be nothing other than his soul mate - should he ever be inclined to believe in such things. The very fact that he entertained these uncharacteristically sentimental and nausea inducing thoughts led him to believe that in every way imaginable, Jo was different to all the other women he had met.

He only hoped Sam somehow knew how grateful Dean was that he had forced him to face his feelings and go to her. Of the many regrets Dean carried with him, the fact Sam would never know of his happiness or get to share in his future would always remain heavy on his heart.  
>Yet day by day, he was slowly healing, and hope had begun to resurface once again. Because Jo made him think about things he had long ago dismissed as impossible.<p>

He chuckled to himself as his rumbling stomach rudely interrupted his romantic reverie, and the sound of Jo's accompanying laughter once again drew his eyes to hers.  
>"Pizza should be here soon," she soothed with an ill-concealed grin, realising they had only a few hours before they had to leave, and Dean always liked to hunt on a full stomach.<br>Nodding in agreement, Dean rose to his feet and paused behind her chair.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he stated, placing his hand on her shoulder and bending his head to brush a kiss against the crown of her head.  
>"Okay," Jo replied, setting aside the final shell casing and leaning back as she lifted her hand to his cheek and sought out his lips. Returning her kiss, Dean squeezed her shoulder affectionately before he padded across the room toward the bathroom, casually calling out over his shoulder, "wallet's on the night stand."<p>

Shooting a glance over toward the bed, Jo located Dean's wallet and replied briefly in affirmation, before beginning to load the two shotguns he had just cleaned.  
>Jo smiled to herself as she heard the sound of the shower running, and for a moment contemplated joining him. The weight of his hungry gaze upon her had left her with an insistent tug of desire in the pit of her stomach. Yet she acknowledged that since their take-out would be promptly arriving, those activities would have to be postponed for the post- hunt adrenalin rush they would undoubtedly be left with.<p>

Almost on cue there was a short, sharp knock on the door, and Jo gently lay the shotgun down on the table top and headed over toward the night stand. Quickly retrieving a twenty dollar bill, she tossed the worn leather wallet onto the bed and hurried to the door.

The acne littered faced of the teenage boy suddenly broke out into a grin as he surveyed the attire of his customer. Ignoring his lascivious stares, Jo grabbed the pizza box and thrust the money at him, carefully balancing the two soda cans and greasy paper bag atop the box as she kicked the door closed with her foot.  
>"Keep the change," she called, turning from the door the second it slammed shut before setting the food down onto the table.<p>

Frowning as she heard the water still running, Jo shouted above the sound of the shower, "Dean?"

Shrugging as she received no response, Jo called out to him again, casting her gaze absently around the garishly decorated motel room as she awaited his reply. A small piece of paper caught her eye, and she wandered over toward the bed, bending to retrieve the article from the mustard coloured carpet. Turning the photograph over in her hand, she blinked in surprise at the image of the smiling woman that greeted her.

With confusion beginning to etch over her features, Jo stared down at the photograph of herself, both trying and failing to remember when such a picture had been taken. Laughing at some mystery person not evident within the image, Jo lay sprawled on Bobby's couch, her head propped in her hand as she leant her elbow on the upholstered arm. She looked relaxed and at ease, her eyes creased as a genuine smile illuminated her face.

Jo brushed her thumb over the slightly worn corner of the photograph, her gaze flicking between the picture and the wallet lying on top of the covers, and realisation suddenly dawned upon her.

"You say something, sweetheart?" Dean asked, rubbing a towel over his damp hair as he padded out of the bathroom with another dark blue towel slung around his hips. He quirked an eyebrow as he saw Jo visibly start at his appearance, and his eyes befell the item in her hands.

Turning to throw the towel onto the bathroom counter, Dean crossed the room and stood beside her, smiling almost instantly at the image contained in the photo.  
>"You have a picture of me in your wallet?" Jo asked breathlessly, obviously disbelieving Dean to be capable of such an acutely sentimental gesture.<p>

Bobbing his head in affirmation, Dean slid his hand around her hips and pulled her closer, bestowing a tender kiss against her cheek.

"Yeah," he answered simply, chuckling as he added, "isn't that what guys do with their girlfriends?"  
>"Well, yeah. I... I guess so," Jo stammered, watching as he plucked the photograph from between her fingers and retrieved his wallet from the bed. Sliding the picture back into the pocket, Dean briefly swept his finger over the dog-eared corner, and smiled at the memories it evoked.<p>

A couple of months before, Ellen had all but insisted that Bobby replace his "ancient relic of a camera" with a new fangled digital model, Dean had been left to figure out the workings of said camera after Bobby had threatened to throw it from a moving vehicle. Jo had remained unaware of his ninja like photography skills, and the resulting image he had captured had instantly made his breath catch in his throat. With the lives they led, and the stress and heartache of the past five months since Sam's disappearance, it was rare to see any of them overcome with a truly genuine smile- the unchecked happiness and vivacity he found within her smiling face had meant the photograph had quickly been tucked away in his wallet for safe keeping.

Whilst he and Jo hunted together most of the time, there had been occasions when one had remained at home, sometimes to accompany Bobby or Ellen on a hunt instead. As much as he was loathed to admit it to Bobby, and terrified to do so to Ellen, Dean missed Jo when she wasn't around. On those occasions he had found himself without her beside him, her picture had been a welcome reminder of what awaited him at home.

Subsequently, numerous bar tenders and several inappropriately flirtatious waitresses had found themselves suddenly presented with the photograph. Any traces of embarrassment the hunter might have felt being suitably masked by a couple of beers or shots of Jack Daniels.  
>Feeling a blush run up his sober and therefore slightly self-conscious cheeks, Dean closed the wallet and returned it to the night stand, before drawing the still evidently shocked blonde into his arms.<p>

Reaching up to toy with a tendril of hair that had escaped it's confines, Dean twirled the curl around his finger and swept his green eyes over Jo's face.

"You've got a beautiful smile, you know that?" he said softly, cupping her chin in his hand as he brushed his thumb over her lips, "first thing I noticed about you..."

A chuckle reverberated from his chest as he arched an eyebrow and winced playfully, "Well, aside from the fact you've got a killer right hook."

Jo laughed, looping her arms around his neck at the memory of their first meeting at the roadhouse; a time that now seemed so very long ago.  
>"Hey, you asked for it," Jo defended, smiling as she recalled the impromptu break-in, "and I think I've <em>more<em> than made it up to you."

Dean grinned smugly, sliding his hands down her back and settling them provocatively on the curve of her rear.

"I noticed this too..." he teased, pulling her flush against him and feeling his heart rate suddenly climb at the resulting whimper his gesture elicited.

"Uh-huh," Jo replied disdainfully, rolling her eyes as she vividly recalled the less than subtle leering that had occurred, unashamedly directed at her ass.  
>Dean nodded, holding her gaze as the couple exchanged equally adoring smiles and each angled their head to allow their lips to meet. Jo sank into his arms, murmuring unintelligibly as his tongue met hers. His hand settled around the back of her neck, holding her to him possessively as she pressed against his chest and willingly surrendered to his kisses.<br>After breaking apart to gasp for breath, Jo wasted no time in reclaiming his lips, and Dean smiled against her mouth at her eagerness. Eventually drawing back, she felt him press a final kiss against her lips, and he brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

His skin was warm and damp to the touch, and the scent of his body combined with the fresh, clean smell of soap elicited a contented sigh from her. Pressing her cheek against his chest, Jo felt his fingers comb gently through her hair, and they remained in an embrace until the pressing urgency of their impending hunt forced them apart.

Dean glanced over toward the table and his eyes immediately lit up upon seeing the take-out boxes.

"Great! The pizza's here? I'm starving," he enthused, all but rubbing his hands together as he padded over toward the table and began rifling through the boxes.  
>Jo shook her head and grinned at the sudden change in mood, and just like that, the moment was gone.<p>

Joining him by the table, she watched him take a large bite out of a slice of pizza, ropes of melted cheese drawing from his lips as he hastily chewed after the escaping mozzarella and then winced at the heat that met his tongue.  
>"The cheese is <em>hot<em>," he warned, frowning as he saw Jo simply laugh at his reaction and head off toward the bathroom.  
>"I'm gonna take a shower," she stated, feeling her skin slicked with perspiration as a result of the room's overzealous heating appliance, and their equally overzealous activities. Whilst she was certain she would more than break a sweat on their hunt that evening, she wanted to meet with the building owner looking as fresh and presentable as possible.<p>

Swallowing his mouthful of food, Dean nodded, watching transfixed as she walked across the room and began tugging her vest up and over her head.  
>Quickly glancing between the pizza slice in his hand and the figure of his retreating girlfriend, (aided by the mental images of naked skin and hot, steamy showers), Dean made a hasty decision. Throwing the pizza back into the container, he closed the lid of the box and sucked the residual tomato sauce from his fingers.<p>

Wearing an impossibly wide smile, he sauntered into the bathroom after her, and kicked the door closed with a resounding thud.

The old leather wallet remained on the night stand, containing one cherished image that over the years ahead would be joined by several more. Though it's owner could never envision such a time now, one day the joyful faces of nieces and nephews, as well as the infectious smiles of two beautiful, brown eyed little girls, would one day occupy their own special places in the wallet.

But for now, the present was all that occupied Dean Winchester's mind, and, for once, that alone was enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating:** T

**Pairing: **Dean/Jo

**Authors Note:**

Hey all! I know it's been forever since I updated this fic, but I'm afraid work and a Masters degree got in the way of my writing schedule. But, school is now done with, and I've finally got some free time again, so hopefully I'll manage regular updates.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and what I have coming up for you next!

With thanks as always to Silverspoon, for her magical beta powers.

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><p><strong><em><span>Washington<span>_**

Thunder rolled forth from the heavens, and lightning lit up the night sky, illuminating a torrent of glistening rain drops to the naked eye.

Ellen Harvelle glanced up at the ceiling as the rain continued to thud against the metal sheeting. She drummed the playing cards she held in her hand against the table top and rolled her eyes at the sight of the figure standing beside the window.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Ellen directed her gaze back toward the game of solitaire she had laid out before her.

"Joanna Beth, will you sit your ass down? All that pacing you're doing is gonna give me a God-damn ulcer!"

Jo folded her arms across her chest, shifting her weight between her feet as she peered out at the darkness. Her demeanour was almost nervous.

"They should have been back a couple of hours ago," she stated, her tone clearly betraying her deep concern. "Dean said it was just a salt and burn, right?"

Ellen continued on with her game, shaking her head with a wry smile tugging at her lips.

"When is anything really that simple, sweetie?" she pointed out, glancing up as her comment received a huff of disapproval.

"Yeah, exactly my point, Mom," Jo agreed, her eyes widening to convey her point.

Jo groaned wearily as a coughing fit suddenly shook her body, and her eyes watered as she raised her hand to her mouth, unable to quell the irritating tickle in the back of her throat.

"Jo, sit down," Ellen soothed, nodding as Jo grudgingly gave up on her vigil and settled herself in the chair opposite her mother.

"You really think they're okay?" Jo worried her bottom lip with her teeth, as she twisted the cap off of a bottle of soda, and drank down two heavy gulps of the unpleasantly warm liquid.

"I think they're old enough and ugly enough to take care of themselves," Ellen replied, narrowing her eyes as she contemplated the card in her hand and placed it down onto the top of the discarded pile.

Jo failed to reply, her fingers picking at the label on the bottle as she tried to distract herself with reading over the list of ingredients.

"I should be out there with them," she groused, even as a second series of coughs assailed her.

Ellen shook her head and bit back a smile, wondering if her own defiant streak had been as exasperating to her own mother. Because as annoying as her argumentative nature could be, there was no denying that Jo was far too much like Ellen for her own good.

"You really think you're in any fit state to be out there hunting?" Ellen countered, hoping Jo would finally let the subject rest. After she had come down with the flu that had put Dean out of action for the past week, it had been decided that Jo would remain in the motel with Ellen, much to Jo's indignance.

Dean had tried to assure her that it would be a temporary measure, but the residual cough Jo was still fighting off was hardly conducive to hunting, where the element of surprise, and being in peak physical condition was something of a necessity. So Bobby and Dean had gone out in search of the restless spirit, leaving the Harvelle women to wait out the storm in their motel room.

"You really think Dean's mind would be on the job if he was out there worrying about you?" Ellen pointed out, satisfied when she received a sullen shrug and a whispered 'I guess not' from her petulant offspring.

"Okay. So quit your whining and take your medicine," Ellen directed, pushing a small glass bottle of cough syrup across the table.

Waiting until Jo was busily eyeing the lines on the small plastic measuring cup, Ellen snatched up the deck of cards from the table and began to shuffle them vigorously. "You figured out what you want to do for your birthday?"

Jo grimaced and closed her eyes against the decidedly vile taste of the medicine and shook her head.

Swallowing repeatedly until the viscous liquid had finally slipped down her throat, she screwed the cap back onto the bottle and glared at it accusingly. Maybe Dean had had a point when he had staged a protest every time she forced him to drink the revolting concoction.

"Nothing," Jo finally answered, arching a dark blonde eyebrow as she glanced up at Ellen with apparent surprise. Given the events of the past few months, and Dean's understandably melancholy attitude to holidays and birthdays, she figured this year they'd skip any further celebrations.

"It's been 6 months sweetie," Ellen sighed sadly, "Sam..." she paused as the name appeared to catch in her throat, and her eyes betrayed the sting of her words.

Smiling weakly, she continued on, "He wouldn't want Dean to live like this. He wanted him to have a life... a good one. So it's high time things started changing around here."

Jo frowned, confused by Ellen's sudden interest in family events. Though they marked each other's birthdays every year, exchanging a card and gift was as celebratory as it ever got with the Harvelle's.

"We don't usually..." Jo began, her eyes widening as Ellen interrupted her.

"Well, I figure it's time we start!" Ellen stated, leaving apparently little room for further argument.

Jo rolled her eyes, an action Ellen pointedly ignored, as she began to deal another row of cards out before her.

Running her hands through to the ends of her hair, Jo stared over at the window, watching the raindrops splash against it in a watery haze.

She stood from the chair and sauntered nonchalantly over to the window, pressing her palm to the glass as she peered outside.

The cell phone in her pocket had been silent for past couple of hours, and with each passing second her trepidation grew. Curling her fingers around the small device, she retrieved it from her pocket and flipped it open, hoping she had missed the discrete alert of a text or perhaps call. But the screen remained impassively still. No messages, no calls.

Her thumb hovered momentarily over the 'contacts' button, and she briefly warred with continuing on in her vigil, or simply giving in and calling. She closed the flip-screen hesitantly, and grasped the phone in her hand as she returned her gaze to the darkness outside. Dean would only tease her for her fussing, and she wondered when she'd apparently become _that_ kind of girl. Hysteria and paranoia weren't usually her thing.

A blinking light suddenly caught her attention, and Jo frowned as she stared across the deserted parking lot to the orange glow of a street light.

The lamp flickered, but Jo's attention became fixed upon the looming figure that was now illuminated beneath the beam. She pressed her nose to the window to try and get a better view of the stranger, but the street light winked one final time, before that corner of the parking lot was plunged into darkness.

Watching her daughter from across the room -standing on tip-toe, hand and face pressed desperately against the window pane - Ellen shook her head.

"Jo, don't make me hog tie you to this chair," Ellen warned, now devoid of any patience, "make yourself useful and put on a fresh pot of coffee."

Jo ignored her mother's protests, and simply folded her arms across her chest in mild annoyance. Ellen's own concern was better concealed than her daughter's, but that didn't mean Jo hadn't picked up on it. And if Ellen was worried, that gave Jo more than cause for concern.

Shuffling the cards haphazardly in her hands, Ellen stared down at the worn gold band on her finger with the usual sadness.

She had spent many years in Jo's position; standing by a window, waiting for the glow of car headlights, or the sound of a key turning in the lock. She'd paced he floor until the dawn broke the sky, or exhaustion had forced her to sleep in an armchair. Years went by, and she kept her lonely watch with a baby in her arms, adding a prayer to the mumbled pleas she directed at the heavens, that her child would grow to know her father.

Jo had been only four years old when God had stopped answering her prayers.

Though Ellen loved the Winchester boys dearly, and admittedly saw a good match for her daughter in Dean, she had wanted more for Jo than to follow in her own footsteps. Because loving a hunter always held you on the precipice of heartbreak, and one day he might not come home.

Even though she and Bobby had begun tentative steps toward something that resembled a romantic relationship, there was a place in her heart that existed solely for her long dead husband.

Jo watched her mother apparently lost in thought, and she leant back against the window and hugged her arms tightly around her body.

Her tone was hesitant when she finally broke the silence. "Does it ever get any easier?"

Ellen's head snapped up, and she blinked back the tears she was determined would remain unshed.

"The waiting..." Jo continued, answering Ellen's questioning expression, "does it ever get any easier?"

Ellen shook her head, her lips set into a tight smile as she brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and swallowed down the familiar burn in the back of her throat.

"No," she said softly, directing her gaze to the table top as she thought back over the few years she had been granted with Bill. "But then the second your Daddy came walking through that door, none of it mattered."

Jo had only vague memories of her father. He remained now only in the scent of leather and gunpowder, and the lyrics of a rock song that had become her lullaby. She remembered his smile, and the feel of his arms enclosing her to his chest, she knew his eyes from the photograph she kept in her wallet. But Jo had grown up a stranger to her father's memory, and the years that passed since his death took him that little bit further away from her.

"I wish I remembered him better," Jo admitted, crossing the room and sliding her arms around her mother's neck in a gesture of comfort.

"Me too, sweetie," Ellen nodded, patting her daughter's arm as she pressed a kiss to her hand and rubbed her arm affectionately.

Jo hugged her tightly, closing her eyes as she found the same strength and security in her mother's presence as she had as a child. For as much as they argued and bickered, the mother-daughter bond that the pair shared had been forged out of the very deepest love and devotion.

"Dean's a good kid, Jo, he is. But, this life..." Ellen began softly, her tone tinged with regret and sadness.

Jo enclosed her mother's hand in her own and smiled resolutely. "It's who I am, Mom. It's who we all are."

Ellen remained silent for a moment, before she bobbed her head slowly, realising Jo had long ago resigned herself to this existence.

"I guess it is," Ellen agreed, craning her neck to glance up at Jo as she patted her hand with renewed reassurance. "They'll be back real soon."

The door to the motel room was suddenly thrown open, and Ellen brushed away any final traces of tears as she climbed to her feet. "Well, speak of the devil..."

"Dean?" Jo surveyed the figure of the bedraggled hunter with a curious combination of sympathy and amusement. Planting her hands on her hips, her eyes skimmed her soaking, muddied boyfriend, and she raised a hand to her mouth to cover a discrete chuckle.

"What in the world happened to you two?" Ellen asked, her similarly widened eyes sweeping the two hunched over hunters as they dripped mud and dirty rain water all over the already stained motel carpet.

"Don't ask!" Dean groused, swiping a muddy hand over his face, as light brown sludge oozed down his forehead across his eyes.

Bobby muttered under his breath, taking off one boot holding his arm outside the doorway as he tipped it upside down and a torrent of water poured out onto the ground.

"That must've been one pretty pissed off ghost," Jo stated, handing Dean a towel as Ellen did likewise for Bobby and helped him in throwing both mud laden boots outside the door.

"It's a freakin' monsoon outside!" Dean grimaced as the door slammed shut and he wiped his face on the towel, leaving a smear of dried mud.

"Whole damn cemetery was like a giant mud slide," Bobby chipped in, shooting his hunting partner a sympathetic nod.

Ellen grinned as Bobby removed his cap, and a patch of clean, white skin was revealed where it had been sitting on his head. Snickering into the collar of her shirt, she hustled the older hunter toward the door.

"I think you're long overdue a shower!" she directed, flapping her hands in Bobby's direction as she ushered him out toward the room they shared, "and quit dripping on the carpet!"

Dean watched them leave as he continued to rub pointlessly at the back of his neck, and Jo helped him shrug out of his water heavy jacket only to reveal a panel of dried mud stuck to his shirt and undershirt.

She grimaced as she rested the leather jacket over the back of the chair, and then removed the towel from his hand.

Dean watched her closely, the smart ass quips he had all lined up suddenly dying on his lips as he watched her obviously troubled expression.

"Bet you're glad you sat this one out, huh sweetheart?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, as a thought suddenly struck him and he snickered at the images his mind conjured, "although, I've gotta say, would've been a hell of a lot more fun sliding around in the mud with you, instead of a crotchety, old guy."

Jo laughed and wiped a smudge of dirt from his jaw before she leant up and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "I'm just glad you're back in one piece."

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Dean stated flippantly, suddenly smiling at his own dishevelled state.

"Oh, I can see that," Jo remarked sarcastically, not resisting as his arms slipped around her waist and he drew her closer.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean checked, stilling her hand with the towel and casting it down onto the table beside them. His hand fluttered to her cheek and she pressed closer into his touch.

"Yeah, I... I just... " she stammered, feeling a blush rise up her cheeks as she pointedly avoided his eyes.

"You just?" he prompted, tilting her chin up so she had to meet his gaze. His green eyes widened as he continued to brush his thumb gently up and down her cheek.

"I was worried about you, that's all," she admitted sheepishly, noting the strangely pleased expression that settled on Dean's face at her admission. He shook it off hurriedly, replacing it with a patented cocksure smile.

"Me? I'm like a bad penny, darlin', I always show up," he assured her with a confident grin.

Jo simply rolled her eyes and ignored his feigned display of self-assurance.

After Missouri, it had been a long time before Dean had 'loosened the reigns', so to speak, where Jo was concerned. Though she appreciated his heavy handed concern, his smothering behaviour had almost driven her crazy. But images of Carthage continually plagued him, and Jo's brush with death had been a stark reminder to them all that hunting was a dangerous occupation. Then of course, they'd lost Sam, and the fear each of them tried to supress became that little bit more insistent.

Dean brushed a kiss against Jo's forehead, repeating the gesture on her cheeks, before finally claiming her lips with his own and crushing her against his chest.

Her arms settled around his neck as she leant further into his body, and she shivered as his mouth ghosted across the shell of her ear in a soft whisper.

"I'll always come back to you, Jo," Dean vowed, his hands mapping out the curve of her waist and hips as she nuzzled a kiss against his neck.

"Promise?" the soft, pleading tone of her voice encouraging him to hold her that little bit tighter.

"I promise," he replied stoically, certain that he'd move heaven and earth to keep his word – perhaps even literally, should circumstances dictate.

Dean felt her smile against his skin, and a slow, drawn out sigh left her body as she finally drew back from his embrace.

"You better go take a shower, I'll find us a take-out menu?" she suggested, her eyes now bright and vivacious once again as she stared up at him.

She paused as a coughing fit caught her off-guard, and she pouted miserably at the nagging ache in her ribs. Dean's hand rubbed her back, and he decided to forgo his teasing enquiry as to whether she'd taken her medicine.

"Sounds good," Dean nodded, bestowing a final kiss against her lips before he released her and strolled over toward the bathroom, "hey, see if that place that does those giant chili dogs delivers!"

He paused in the doorway and swept his gaze slowly up and down her body with a wolfish smile. "You wanna join me?" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jo snorted with laughter and shook her head definitely, imagining the muddy residue that would soon be covering the bathtub. There was nothing about showering in graveyard dirt that sounded even remotely appealing, even with a naked and willing Dean Winchester.

"No," the word was expelled on a guffaw, and she cocked her head, shooting him a withering expression that instantly silenced his libido; at least temporarily.

"Hey, women pay a fortune for those mud bath things, it's good for your skin," Dean quipped, ducking as the towel came hurtling in his direction.

Jo smiled as she heard the water running, and Dean's disgruntled mutterings drifted through the steam as he shed each impossibly filthy item of clothing.

Though the idea of a steamy, muddy encounter had not been to Jo's taste, the crisp, uncharacteristically clean bed sheets were infinitely more appealing. She crossed the room and hurriedly closed the curtains, only casting a fleeting glance at the vacant parking lot in the process. The light in the distant corner of the lot was once again flickering, but it was the blob of congealed, crispy mud, matted in the ends of her hair that stole her attention.

Groaning aloud, Jo turned the lock on the motel room door, before starting toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind her.

The shower curtain was yanked back decisively, before she stepped into the cramped cubicle, earning a surprised grin from her boyfriend.

"Changed your mind, huh?"

Jo cast him a snooty glare, and threw her blonde curls over her shoulder in mock indignation. She let the water run through the ends of her long hair, grinning to herself as she closed her eyes and awaited his move.

Glancing at the loufa in his hand, Dean's eyes hungrily scoured Jo body and he contemplated his options for barely a moment.

The loufa hit the bathroom floor only seconds before he pulled Jo into his arms, and a little while later, a cloud of steam wafted steadily out of the door, carrying with it soft moans and whispered affirmations.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, and the first unearthly howls of wind were soon joined by a fresh chorus of lightning and rolling thunder.

Across the parking lot, the street lamp flickered into life once more.

He stepped out of the shadows, illuminated by the eerie orange glow, and peered up at the darkened window, watching and waiting.

He remained there in silence, until the last raindrops fell, and the sun rose high on the beam of a newborn rainbow.


End file.
